Blueprints
by KathySueMe
Summary: Edward has always had the blueprints for his life tucked safely away in his head... right until Emmett turns his plans upside down.


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**Authors' Notes – First, thank you to TaraSueMe for never telling me to just leave her the fuck alone already. How she tolerates me I'll just never know. Second, endless thanks to TwilightMundi, who rocks my world repeatedly and often. Thirdly, thank you to YOU, the donor reading this. Your money went to help fan-fucking-tastic organizations, and as someone on the receiving end of that help once, I cannot express my thanks deep enough. Thank you to Aylah50 & ColdplayWhore for organizing this project. It is a massive undertaking, and my hat is off to you ladies. -MsKathy**

**Many, many thanks to MsKathy for always being there to encourage, help, and be a shoulder to lean on. I couldn't do it without you! Thank you TwilightMundi, Aylah50, and ColdPlayWhore for being awesome. And thanks especially to you, the donors, for your support of such a worthy cause. As always, it's been an honor, and I hope you enjoy.**

øøø

He was an asshole like no other.

I sat in his richly appointed office, surrounded by the smell of leather, lemon-scented wood cleaner, and money. Lots of money. Edward Cullen had reached a successful point in his life, and he expected the best. Got it, too.

The fastest cars. The newest toys. The most beautiful people.

An unrelenting slave driver when it came to business, he demanded perfection. He'd made his way to the top with hard work and a drive to leave everyone else in the dust. If he stepped on you on his way up the ladder, oh well, business was war and war had casualties.

Yup, Edward Cullen was a Grade A asshole.

He was also so far in the closet, it'd take a miracle or a crowbar to get him out.

Lucky for me, I'm a contractor, so I happen to carry crowbars in my truck.

And though I'm not a religious man, I had to say that someone should build a shrine to his beautiful ass. Because though he was an asshole, his ass deserved to be worshiped.

Nice. Firm. Just the right hint of roundness. The type of ass you could imagine grabbing onto. The type of ass that begged you to squeeze, smack, kiss. My fingers itched, imagining. Wanting.

He turned from standing in front of the large picture window and caught me eyeing said ass. One side of his mouth turned up slightly in a _yeah-I-know-what-you're-thinking-and-you-won't-ever-get-it_ look.

Asshole.

I took a long drag from my cigarette. Just because I knew he hated it.

"I trust when I visit the worksite later today, McCarty," he said. "I won't find cigarette butts all over the place."

I blew a stream of smoke from my lips. His expression didn't change.

"No butts at all," I said. "Boss."

I could goad him because his never-ending quest for perfection had led him to me when he bought an old rundown plantation house and decided to restore it to its original beauty. Even Edward Cullen had to admit I was the best.

"I told you not to call me that."

"Sure thing. Eddie."

He ignored the Eddie remark and walked to his desk, looking again at the blue prints I'd brought over from the architect. One long, slender finger traced the line showing the first floor.

"I like what you've done with this," he said indicating the location of the stairwell.

"Made more sense to do it that way." I leaned forward in my seat, shifting gears in my head from the man in front of me to the house I'd been hired to restore. "You want that to be the main focus as you walk into the house."

He nodded, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The same finger tapped the galley way. "Not so sure about this. I thought it would be more here." The finger moved back behind the kitchen.

I stood up. The architect and I had spent hours poring over these plans. Hours of my own time had been spent at night, researching and studying all I could find dealing with such houses. Historical documents and journals filled damn near every horizontal surface of my house.

"You put it there," I said, coming up behind him and pointing to the back veranda on the paper. "And you'll lose out on this."

"Mm," he hummed, obviously not sold. "I'm still not sure."

I huffed in exasperation. What did he know about blueprints and construction? Nothing. Nothing at all. That was why he hired me. I was the expert.

I took a step closer, a power move, one calculated to show my confidence and know-how. Of course, all it really did was serve to remind me how nice Edward's ass was.

"Look here, Cullen," I said, irritated his ass had such a hold on me. "You hired me to do a job and you have to trust me. My research and discussions have shown me that this," I pointed to the blueprint, "is the best possible layout."

"I heard you had a temper," he said, standing so close I could count his respirations through the material of his jacket. Fine wool, stretched across his back. Breaths slowly increasing.

I put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around. "It's not my temper. It's you acting like you're some damn know-it-all when we both know _I'm_ the expert here."

He looked me up and down. Eyes traveling slowly. "I'll be at the site at four. Show me then how this layout will work."

His lips were slightly parted.

I wondered how they'd taste.

"Good. Then you'll see I'm right," I said, surprising myself with the gruffness of my voice.

"I knew I hired you for a reason." His eyes darkened and the smirk returned to his lips. "Anything else I should know before you go, McCarty?"

"Yeah. There actually is something you need to know." I stepped closer and whispered in his ear, "I don't bottom. Ever."

øøø

"Fuck." I kicked the stake in front of me and looked at my watch again. Five o'clock. Edward, who was never, ever late, was now an hour late.

In exasperation, I'd sent the crew home thirty minutes ago. No need for all of us to wait around, and most of my men had wives and families waiting.

I wondered if his lateness had anything to do with my parting remark. After speaking it, I'd spun and walked away, not waiting for his rebuff or refusal, and unwilling to see his face.

I'd probably pissed him off. Maybe he hadn't known that I knew he was gay. Maybe he hadn't known I was.

"Damn you. You could have at least called," I said to the skeletal remains of the house as if it were somehow their fault.

"I tried," a voice behind me said. "Reception out here is nonexistent."

I spun around.

He was late, but he had finally arrived. Changed out of his suit, too. The consummate businessman now wore jeans and a t-shirt. It should have made him look more ordinary, instead it just made him look more desirable.

I choked back the wave of longing and glared at him. "You're late."

"I apologize."

I took two steps toward him. "I had to send the men home, it'll be dark soon, there's no way I can show you the complete layout, and that's all you've got to say, _I apologize_?"

I was taller than him by a head, larger, and more built, but he didn't cower. He stood his ground.

"I have several important business projects currently making demands of my time. The house," he waved at a wall, "the house is mine and I bought it because restoring it would bring me pleasure." His eyes darkened. "Sometimes pleasure has to wait."

Damn him and his words that could be taken more than one way.

"Yeah?" I took another step and we were separated by mere inches. "Well, as it just so happens, your little pleasure project happens to be the livelihood of ten families. That may not matter to you, but it does me."

His nostrils flared. "They are well compensated, are they not?"

"In money," I said. "But your lack of respect concerning their time wasn't taken too well this afternoon." I looked up and down his body. The exchange between us had only served to heighten my awareness of him. Of his maleness. I shifted my weigh in a futile attempt to lessen my hard on. "I expected more from Edward Cullen."

He shrugged. "I find consistently conforming to others' expectations to be mindless and dull."

I took that as a challenge and circled him. "Is that right? You see, I think it's like this, you want to step outside the box, but you're afraid of how others might see you." His breathing increased as I spoke. "Ah, yes. That's the real problem, isn't it? You can't quite come to terms with who you are and it kills you." I stood behind him and noted his heart pounding through the vein in his neck. I could almost feel the tremor of his body. "How's the view from the back of the closet? Is it dark in there, Eddie?" I pressed my erection ever so slightly against him. "Poor little guy."

"_Don't_ call me Eddie."

I was only half aware of what was happening when he spun me around, grabbed my ass, and rocked against me. His dick strained against his jeans and the material couldn't hide his thick hardness.

"And I'm not little."

I grinned and palmed him, stifling a moan at the bulge that grew even thicker. "I should say not. Though I think an inspection by your local contractor seems to be in order."

øøø

I couldn't believe I'd become unhinged by a contractor.

Okay, so he wasn't just any ordinary contractor – he was a well-paid, well-known, very well-respected architectural genius.

When he told me he never bottomed, it was beyond the last thing I expected to come out of his mouth. I'd heard the rumors but never dared to believe them.

Though I tried to focus through my afternoon of meetings, my mind kept wandering back to him taking me. On the boardroom table. On my spacious antique desk. Bent over the trunk of my Porsche.

By the time I'd gone home, wanked in the shower, and changed, I was definitely going to be late. Then the Boy Scout in me had to stop for condoms – I couldn't tell if McCarty was serious, but on the off chance he was, I wanted to make sure I was prepared. I'd torn one off the strip and tucked it in my pocket with a travel-sized bottle of lube.

Breaking several laws on the way, I arrived at the site of my pet project almost at sunset. There would be just enough time for him to give me a quick tour before we'd be shrouded in darkness.

Taking a quick moment to calm my raging hard-on before getting out of the car, I breathed deep and reminded myself this was business. No matter what he'd said before, I had a reputation to maintain and Emmett didn't strike me as the kind of guy that would be discreet.

I hadn't worked my way to the top by allowing whispers and rumors to drag me down, but this _was_ the south and I knew there would be far-reaching repercussions if I were suddenly hanging rainbow flags around my corporate headquarters.

I stood in the doorway and listened as Emmett verbally chastised me. He went on about his crew, kicking the framing of the old house and cursing having taken the job. It pissed me off that he thought I'd disrespected them all that way, but what could I do? I wasn't about to explain the trip to the drugstore.

His implication that I was little had been the tiny window I needed. I pushed, my body against his, and myself, mentally. If I wanted Emmett McCarty, I should fucking have him and just be done with it. What harm could it cause?

As he dropped to his knees for his self-appointed inspection, I let out a deep breath. Thank fuck, he wanted exactly what I did.

My zipper being pulled down brought my eyes lower. I watched as Emmett took my cock from my boxers. He made eye contact with me, then went back to work, wrapping his beautiful mouth tightly around me.

I moved my hands around to the back of his head; this wasn't the act of two lovers or companions – I was just fucking him. There was something freeing about not having an emotional attachment, I mused as I pushed and pulled my hips, demanding more of him.

My pace was relentless, my primary concern being my own orgasm. Emmett seemed fine, he certainly wasn't complaining. If I was right, he was smiling around my cock, in fact.

Tilting my head back slightly, I closed my eyes and focused on the prize. I didn't want to come too fast – I wanted time to enjoy him – but at the same time, I didn't have all night.

Moments later, I exploded into his waiting mouth. I barely had time to recover before he was up and in my face again. My first instinct was to cringe away when he pressed his lips to mine, but he wasn't snowballing, just kissing me, hard.

Emmett's hands took hold of my waist and turned me. My hands shot out, flat against the wall, and my pants were down in a flash.

Just like my own thoughts before, I could tell the same primal need was driving Emmett. His cold fingers slipped between my cheeks, slicking and preparing me. When I was more than ready, his condom-covered cock rested just outside my body, and he leaned in.

"I'm going to fuck you hard."

"Thank God," I said, my voice stronger than I expected.

One of his hands reached up beneath my arms, holding my body close to his, and the other lined us up. His grip on me had little to do with closeness, and a lot to do with keeping me exactly where he wanted.

Carefully, thank god, Emmett pushed in and began fucking me. His hand that had helped guide his cock moved beneath my other arm and pulled me away from the wall. I flailed a little, helpless and being impaled. It wasn't that I wanted him to stop, I just felt out of control, and that was unsettling. It was then that I realized just how large and strong he was; he was basically manhandling me like I was a ragdoll.

There wasn't much time to dwell on that fact, though. He was doing exactly what he'd promised – fucking me hard, and thoroughly. Each time he was all the way inside, I groaned. He was better than any lover I'd been with before. I wanted to think about it, think about what he was doing and how he was doing it, and _why_ it was so much better, so I could have it again and again.

When he was finished, both of our bodies sore from the movement and spent from the effort, we stood quietly. Our breathing synced and though I'd leaned forward to rest against the wall again, Emmett followed, sandwiching me.

After he withdrew and moved back to get dressed, I shivered. It wasn't cold in the room, but our sweat on my skin and his movement away caused goosebumps to form. I shook my head and pulled my pants back on, reassembling myself as best I could.

The rest of the night was exactly as planned – he showed me around as best he could with no lights and power to the house yet, and then we went our separate ways.

It was easy. It was fulfilling. It was uncomplicated and perfect.

Several weeks later, progress on the house was coming along nicely, and we'd fucked a few more times. Not every time we saw each other, but most. I was sitting at my desk working on the financials for the month when Emmett burst through the door.

"We need to talk."

"Obviously," I said with a snort. "Where's Alice? How'd you get by her?"

He laughed lightly, shoulders moving. "You think your pretty cock is the only thing I can charm? Why aren't you on-site like you said you'd be? We needed to go over these documents for the permits, Cullen."

What the hell? I'd been so wrapped up in the end of the month paperwork, I'd completely forgotten about meeting him.

"I'm sorry, I ..." Then it hit me. "Wait, did you just say I have a pretty dick, McCarty?"

"You do, but that's not the point."

I stood, then moved around to stand in front of him. I was painfully aware that my office door was still open, and cursed the fact that I really couldn't slyly close it and have my way with him right that minute.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I fucked up." Lowering my voice, I took one small step closer, into his personal space. "I'll make it up to you, somehow."

Emmett's booming laugh wasn't hurtful, it just told me that he saw the look in my eyes and we'd diffused the tension between us. Our banter had become a part of our working relationship that I looked forward to.

"Did you bring what I need to sign?"

I sat back down and we went over the papers. Emmett would get them filed in time and nothing would be delayed, but I had to laugh at the way he made an excuse to come find me.

"It's closing time," he said quietly. "Wanna grab a burger?"

"Sure."

Two dudes getting a beer and some red meat wasn't cause for eyebrows to be raised, right? It felt like a safe venture in public with him.

Over dinner, we talked about things unrelated to work, and also unrelated to our mutual desire to fuck men. Or more specifically, each other.

That topic wasn't safe at all, and though he was clearly more comfortable with it, he seemed to respect my desire to enjoy the view from the closet, as he'd so brusquely observed before.

We parted ways and when I got home, I tapped the button on my phone and set it down to check my email as I undressed. I flopped in bed when I had it back in my hands, and saw an email from Emmett. I didn't even know he _had_ my personal email address.

When I opened it and read his words – the three small words changed my path.

"I want more."

He was giving me an easy out. I could pretend I hadn't gotten the email, make up stories about my spam folders or such.

I didn't want to be that guy, though.

We'd talked at dinner about the reasons why I wanted to restore the house he was working on. He'd assumed I was trying to recreate my idyllic childhood, but once I told him about the abusive household I grew up in, that image was shattered. No, it wasn't to recreate a picture-perfect childhood, but it was out of my desire to create an oasis. An escape where the office didn't exist. A private place for me to relax, and hopefully to relax with someone.

What I'd left unsaid was that I always imagined that someone to be female.

It was a tangled and complicated web, being gay. Add the mega-multi-million-dollar company I ran, where in the United States I lived, and the complications just kept stacking against me.

I didn't sleep that night, Emmett's email on my mind the entire time. I didn't sleep well for a few days, actually, until I invited him over to my current apartment for dinner. I wanted to talk. I wanted Emmett to know me, to know why I didn't want more, couldn't have more.

On my way home, I stopped and picked up take-out Chinese.

When he arrived, we sat in the living room, television on softly in the background, and ate. It was not easy to be around him and not just want to fall into bed, but that wasn't why we were there. I hoped we'd get there eventually, though.

"I can't," I said, disrupting the TV. "It's not that I don't want to. For once, I actually do. I just can't."

For hours, we rehashed all of the various reasons. I explained and he rebuffed. The sun set, and still, we sat and talked. At times, it was heated, and not in the good ways. I just wanted him to understand, and though it seemed like he did, he kept challenging me more and more. He hadn't just pulled my hand and led me out of the closet, he seemed intent on shoving me out.

I couldn't.

However, baby steps, I could do.

That night, I let Emmett sleep over. We fucked, loud and hard. More specifically, I fucked him loud and hard after he confessed he'd just been yanking my chain when he said he never bottomed. He hogged the blankets all fucking night, but I shared my space.

After a shower together, cereal, and a quick kiss, we went our separate ways. I held in the laugh at how my clothes didn't fit Emmett at all.

It felt oddly domestic.

Oddly like what I thought I'd have with a woman someday.

Oddly right.


End file.
